


Acceptance

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Mummy Holmes, M/M, POV Alternating, Romantic Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22692523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Neither Mycroft nor Greg registered until the law was passed compelling them to do so. Just because you registered, though, didn't mean you had to open your mail a few weeks later. The only rebellion Greg could manage was to ignore the official letter when it arrived. It could only mean one thing – and he was very much not interested.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 43
Kudos: 318
Collections: Mystrade Soulmates Week 2020





	Acceptance

Neither Mycroft nor Greg registered until the law was passed compelling them to do so. Before, Mycroft’s parents weren’t thrilled at the idea of their eldest son refusing to settle down with his undoubtedly wealthy and connected soulmate at the first opportunity but there was nothing they could do. Greg hated the idea of being told who he should spend his life with. He was far too wild a spirit so the second he came of age, his motorbike took him to London and there was no more said about it.

Unfortunately when the conservatives came into political power, they brought ‘traditional family values’ with them – and that meant mandatory registration for all adults. The only rebellion Greg could manage was to ignore the official letter when it arrived. It could only mean one thing – and he was very much not interested.

Curiously, a similar letter sat resolutely and somewhat defiantly unread in a certain desk in a certain office in Whitehall.

+++

“You can’t ignore it forever, Greg,” his sister said.

“I bloody can,” he grumbled.

“You know what they’re like. If you don’t even meet, they’ll push to you get along with it, at least.”

“If I have a match at all,” Greg said. “Not everybody does, you know.”

“Most do,” she retorted.

“Yeah,” Greg replied. He could see her waiting for him to continue the argument but he just couldn’t. Instead he shrugged and walked out of the room.

+++

It wasn’t that he lacked interested in potentially having a match. Mycroft told himself that anyone who was unfortunate enough to be matched with him would have to endure more than any reasonable person should be asked to. It wouldn’t be fair to them. He was making their life easier.

He ignored the uncomfortable whisper reminding him soulmates were often far happier than people who didn’t match. Propaganda, he told himself ignoring the first-hand accounts he’d heard of people happily changing aspects of their life to accommodate their soulmate. He had been alone for so long. In his darker moments Mycroft wondered if he should have been tested right at the start, before he’d had the chance to become so set in his ways.

There was no point trying to change the past.

+++

“But have you got a letter, Greg?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

His mother’s eyes lit up as she knew they would.

“You know they only send letters if there’s a match!” she squealed.

“Not always,” Greg tried, but she wasn’t listening.

“And you haven’t read it? Where is it? Oh Greg, how long have you been sitting on this?”

“Does it matter?” Greg muttered.

“Does it matter!” His mother groaned. “Of course it does, Greg. All the years you could have had with your soulmate! All that time!”

“Well it’s my choice, Mum,” Greg said, regretting telling her he’d even sent in for testing.

“But Greg...”

She kept talking but he was zoning her out now. The contents of the letter were irrelevant. Soulmate or not, nobody would want to spend their life with him anyway, so what was the point in going through the whole process? It would be easier if he didn’t bother.

+++

“I beg your pardon?”

Mycroft couldn’t believe his ears. His mother stood resolutely, his secretary looking somewhere between abashed and warily interested in his response. She’d be lucky if he didn’t fire her, letting someone into the anteroom of his office without his permission. Even if she was his mother, and even if it was a space that contained only personal artefacts and nothing of national significance. Even if, _even if_ his secretary had followed her in, making sure she was not left alone. And _especially_ when Mycroft returned to find both women poring breathlessly over the private item of mail he’d kept in the locked drawer of his desk, unopened since it had arrived.

“I said, Mycroft, you should have brought this to me immediately.”

“The contents of that letter are none of your business,” Mycroft said coldly, striding over and snatching the letter from his mother. “And I will welcome you to leave my office. Immediately.”

“Oh Mycroft,” his mother said with one of her infuriating smiles. She’d ceded the paper, of course, looking for all the world like she had intended to give it to him all along. “I only want you to be happy.”

“I would be happiest left on my own without members of my own family resorting to breaking and entering to paw through my private papers,” he snapped.

She raised her eyebrows in a ‘heaven preserve me’ motion before walking to the door, head held high. “If you don’t contact him, Mycroft, I will. And don’t fire your secretary, she was most concerned with your security.”

Mycroft stared after her, then turned his attention to the secretary, who had lost all interested and was focussing solely on the state of the carpets.

“You are dismissed,” he said, deliberately pausing before adding, “for the day. We will not need to discuss this further, except for me to remind you that nobody is _ever_ to be admitted past your desk without my presence.”

“Yes Mr. Holmes. I am sorry, Mr. Holmes.”

She scurried out without looking back, and Mycroft sank back onto his sofa, not yet looking at the paper in his hand.

+++

“You want what?”

“It’s my birthday, Greg. I get to choose what we do, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not really on the table, kiddo,” Greg said to his sister. She had that look in her eyes, though, the one that meant she was allowed to keep playing football with the boys all the way to under 15s. It was not a look Greg was all that keen to try and cross, even for something like this.

“You are seriously telling me you’d give up the chance for, say…tickets to the football this weekend, with burgers after and an escape room or two?”

She snorted. “Hell yeah.”

Greg sighed. He knew he shouldn’t have lead with his best idea, but it was a long time since his sister wanted to do anything other than a football match with burgers after for her birthday. The escape rooms were a pretty desperate effort to sway her and they both knew it.

“So instead we’re getting in a curry and…opening my letter. For your birthday.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Give me the phone, I’ll make the order while you find that envelope.”

Greg regretted ever telling her it had arrived. They ate first, Greg refusing point blank to open it before he’d finished his Rogan Josh, but when it was all packed away and he’d visited the loo and got himself another beer, there was no more stalling.

“Right,” he said to her, “here it goes.”

The sinking feeling in his stomach grew heavier with each second.

+++

The headache was bad enough without also dealing with an international crisis, but Mycroft was used to last minute changes to his schedule.

“Tell the Prime Minister I will be there in fifteen minutes,” he told his secretary. “And bring in my medication.”

“Yes, Mister Holmes,” she replied immediately. Her work had been impeccable since the Incident, Mycroft did have to admit. He’d tucked the paper back into its envelope without looking, resigned to his mother doing all the work. It wouldn’t matter whether he read it, she would no doubt engineer some kind of mortifyingly transparent excuse for a meeting with him sooner rather than later.

_Him._

That word – which may or may not have been used deliberately – made his heart thump every time he considered it. At least there was that. Whatever else his soulmate was, there was zero chance of what his mother would consider a ‘harmonious match’ unless they were male. The first night after the Incident, comforted by a large glass of breathtakingly expensive Scotch, he’d considered each of her words, lingering on the possibilities. As the Scotch had disappeared and been refreshed, his mind lingered on details he might desire, if he allowed himself. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, an easy smile. Nothing too specific, but the eyes…Mycroft wanted nothing more than kind eyes that looked at him with affection and no judgement. They could be any colour of the rainbow, but the kindness…his heart yearned for kindness.

+++

“Jesus,” Greg whispered.

His sister glanced at him. “What?” she said. “What?”

“I…” Greg cleared his throat. “I think this might be wrong.”

“Wrong?” she repeated. She snatched the paper from him. “It can’t be wrong, Greg, they’re never wrong.” Bright eyes skimmed over the words. “Why do you…oh my God, do you know them?”

Greg dropped his head into his hands.

“You know them!”

His sister’s voice was shrill with excitement, and he winced. Since he’d agreed to this nonsense Greg had pushed any ideas about what his soulmate might be like from his mind, not wanting to be disappointed if he was wrong.

“How could I know them?” Greg asked. “It’s just an email address. That’s what they do, set up email addresses so you can talk first.” He knew they were monitored, at least to see if they were used; people who talked but never registered their connection were almost always ‘contacted’ by a ‘liaison officer’ to find out why they had not agreed to settle down with their soulmate.

“Yeah, but that look on your face,” she said, studying him. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

“No,” Greg said. There was no way he was going to admit how relieved he was that next to Sex it said Male. Over the years he’d experimented up and down the spectrum, but there was always a part of him that was more comfortable with male partners.

_At least there’s that._

“Well, let’s do it now,” she urged. “Might as well.”

“Fine,” Greg sighed, dragging out his laptop. He was in this now. _Might as well._

“Woah,” he said, typing the complicated email address and password in.

“There’s a message already!” she squealed.

“Yeah,” Greg said, his heart beating out of his chest. It was simple, a single line. The date was recent. Very recent. Was that a sign of their connection? That they both reached out at the same time?

_I am willing to meet if you are. Please contact me._

_Sincerely, MAH._

“Woah,” his sister murmured. “Well go on, then.”

With trembling fingers, Greg typed a reply.

_Hi. I’m based in London. Friday nights are generally good? Where do you suggest?_

_Cheers, GAL._

“GAL?” she grinned.

“It’s what he did,” Greg objected. He wasn’t sure if it was relief he was feeling; there was a new anxiety now that they’d started this, but at least it was started. Wherever it led, the small voice wondering, _What if…_ would at least be silenced.

“Greg!” she gasped, as his computer pinged and a new message arrived. “He must have notifications on for this email!”

Greg nodded, his throat very dry as he read the words.

_Friday 14 th February, 8pm, O estrahno. I am aware of the significance of this date, however it is the soonest I can find time. I hope you can forgive me, as I have no expectations on any future relationship._

_I look forward to meeting you._

_Sincerely, MAH._

Without prompting, Greg replied, trying to type carefully despite his sister hanging off one arm.

_Sure. See you then._

_GAL._

He closed his laptop, accepting the excited hug his sister immediately bestowed on him.

_Jesus._

+++

“Mother,” Mycroft started, but she raised her hand. He ground his teeth at the gesture – he would have tolerated it from literally nobody else in the world – but stood in silence.

“You will go to this restaurant and meet this person,” she said. “One dinner. That is all I am asking of you. If you or he are not interested in taking your union further, I will respect your wishes and never mention it again.”

Mycroft could feel his lips pressing hard together as he considered her words. It would be more or less hell to pay if he didn’t go, and at least this way there would be relief from the anxiety that had plagued him since she’d summarily waltzed in and taken over this aspect of his life.

“Fine,” he said, the word almost painfully spoken. “But I expect you to stand by your statement. Not another word.”

“Not another word,” she repeated. “I’ll send you the details.”

Mycroft sighed as she left, the door closing quietly behind her. When his phone vibrated gently in his pocket a few moments later he pulled it out of his pocket, blinking at his mother’s message.

_Friday 14 th February, 8pm, O estrahno. Reservation for MAH._

“Oh, Mother,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. _O estrahno_? The restaurant, while lauded for its excellent Brazilian fare, was well known as a first meeting place for soulmates. It would be as good as advertising what was happening to tell anyone that was where he was dining. He deleted the message, instead adding, ‘Dentist, 8pm’ to his personal calendar for that evening.

He ignored all sentiment about the date.

+++

“Are you sure this tie is alright?” Greg asked.

“You look great,” his sister replied. She straightened it incrementally, then grinned. “And this jacket was worth every penny.”

“Easy to say when they’re not your pennies,” Greg grumbled, though he did have to agree with her. It was worth the investment, he reminded himself. “Alright, if you’re coming with me we’d better get moving.”

He was pretty sure her ‘I’m going that way anyway’ was more about making sure he didn’t chicken out than anything else, but he appreciated the company. When they emerged from the underground, the restaurant sign was visible from across the road.

“Go on,” she said. “Give him a chance, hey?”

“Yeah,” Greg murmured. Impulsively, he kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, Kez.”

“No problem,” she said.

He took a deep breath, checking twice before crossing the road. He’d never eaten somewhere so fancy before. Before he went in, Greg closed his eyes for a second.

_Just let him be nice. And easy to talk to. With nice eyes._

He didn’t want to be greedy. Surely that was enough to ask for, not that it would make any difference right now.

“Good evening,” the maître d’ greeted him. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Um, I’m meeting someone?” Greg said, then winced. “I don’t actually know his name…”

“Not a problem,” the maître d’ replied easily. “Do you have any idea what name they might book under?”

“Er, MAH?” Greg hazarded a guess.

The maître d’ did not even need to check his book before smiling at Greg. “Certainly,” he said. “This way, please.”

Greg relaxed a little – one hurdle passed – before his heartrate ramped right up at the realisation this man was taking him to meet his soulmate. His _soulmate_.

“Here you are,” the maître d’ said, smiling.

Greg returned his smile, then turned to look at the man already sitting at the table. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Mycroft?” he whispered.

“Gregory.” Mycroft’s voice was as shocked as his, and neither moved for several seconds.

“Might I offer you a seat?”

Greg sat on autopilot, glad the maître d’ seemed to know what was going on. They probably saw a lot of this, he thought dimly. Weird reactions to meeting your soulmate.

“How are you?” Greg asked finally.

“Well, thank you,” Mycroft replied, though it sounded like an automatic response. “Surprised,” he added.

“Yeah,” Greg said. He cast around for something to say. “What’s the A for?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft replied.

“The A in your initials,” Greg said. “Mine’s Alexander.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “As is mine,” he said quietly.

“Really?” Greg asked. The small detail relaxed him a little. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

+++

The evening had been excruciating.

The shock from seeing Gregory Lestrade approach his table had taken a long time to dissipate. Mycroft drew on all his skills to continue their conversation, but he couldn’t help the increasing feeling of dismay that this was the man he would be cutting loose at the end of the evening. In other circumstances, he might have entertained ideas, but given their status as soulmates, he could take no risks. This could not be a casual association, so it must be laid to rest from the start.

“Coffee?”

Gregory’s voice broke through his contemplation of the warmth of Gregory’s eyes.

“I must decline,” Mycroft said. “Far too late in the evening for something so caffeinated.”

“Sure,” Gregory replied.

Mycroft immediately wished he’d accepted.

Gregory glanced around, his sudden discomfort making Mycroft wonder if he was about to say something…

“Look, do you want to get out of here?” he asked with the half-smile Mycroft liked so much. “Somewhere we can…talk.”

“Certainly,” Mycroft said, not willing to turn Gregory down twice in a row. It would be easier to let him down somewhere less public, as well. He ignored the pang of guilt and regret pre-emptively swirling in his gut.

They found themselves walking through a park – Mycroft was so distracted he didn’t even know where exactly – and Gregory stopped by a small pond. The lamps were lit, casting a warm yellow glow around them.

“So,” Gregory said. His hands were on the fence before him, and when he bowed his head Mycroft couldn’t see his face. He wondered why that made him uneasy. Had he become so accustomed to seeing Gregory’s emotions visible on his face in such a short time?

“Gregory,” Mycroft started, but he stopped when he couldn’t find the right words. He knew what he should say, had practiced the short speech about how poorly they were matched etc, but now that he was here, it was far more difficult than he thought it might be.

+++

“Mycroft,” Greg said, turning to look at him. There was a slight frown, he thought – the lamps weren’t all that bright – but he certainly looked uncomfortable. The evening had been fine, if bland; Greg had the distinct impression he was getting Formal Mycroft, the one who attended evenings with politicians he didn’t care about but had to pretend that he did. It certainly wasn’t the same warmth he’d felt the once or twice they’d shared a late nightcap after dealing with Sherlock.

“Look,” Greg said, “I don’t want to push you. I mean, I certainly didn’t come here expecting anything more than a dinner.” He hesitated, hoping his palms weren’t too sweaty. “But maybe if we shake hands, we’ll…know.”

“Know?” Mycroft asked blankly. The confusion was definitely there now.

“You know, people say that the first time they touched their soulmate, skin to skin I mean, they…knew,” Greg said, wincing at his lame explanation of what he’d been thinking for most of the night.

_At least we’ll know._

“Oh,” Mycroft said. “Of course.”

Greg couldn’t tell if he had actually heard that before or not, but as far as Greg knew it was pretty common. Not that he had any idea how much conversation Mycroft had with anyone about soulmates. Probably not a lot, given how long it had taken him to come around to getting in contact.

He looked down at where Mycroft’s hand was extended into the space between them.

“Wait,” Greg said, suddenly panicky. “I mean, you should know…” he gave a half smile, hoping Mycroft hadn’t figured out that was what he did when he was nervous. “I don’t want you blindsided or anything. By whatever happens when we touch. Kinda feel like you should hear all the bad stuff first. So you can make up your mind.”

“The bad stuff?” Mycroft replied. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“About me,” Greg said. “The stuff that’s probably not what you’re looking for in a soulmate.” His heart was pounding and he wondered when his mouth had started making decisions for the rest of him.

“And you feel I should know about this first?” Mycroft said, eyes widening in alarm.

“Yeah,” Greg said. “I mean, you don’t have to share anything if you don’t want to, not that you probably have anything, but I just mean…” he blew out a breath. “I’m pretty nervous, can you tell?”

Mycroft stood still for what felt like an eternity. “Please, feel free to share anything you would like,” he said quietly.

Greg took a deep breath.

+++

Mycroft held his breath as Gregory prepared to speak. He couldn’t imagine what he was about to hear – he’d deliberately not reviewed the initial background check, asking one of his colleagues to simply let him know of anything that would be of concern – so his personal knowledge of Gregory Lestrade was limited to the details he’d shared already.

“Well, I’m divorced, you probably already know that,” Gregory said.

“I believe Sherlock had mentioned it,” Mycroft murmured.

“What, you didn’t know?” Gregory replied, obviously surprised.

“No,” Mycroft said. “Your background check was conducted by a colleague.”

“Right.” Gregory looked thoughtful at that. “Well, what else has your brother mentioned about me?”

“Not a lot,” Mycroft said. “We don’t speak often.”

“I know,” Gregory replied. “I’m sorry things aren’t easier between you.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Mycroft asked. Why hadn’t they talked about this at dinner?

“A sister,” Gregory said. “We’re pretty close. Couldn’t imagine life without her.”

“I’m pleased for you,” Mycroft said. _And a little envious._

“Anyway,” Gregory said, the warmth draining from his voice. He sounded far more sombre as he added, “I drink too much, I don’t eat all that well, and it’s been months since I’ve done anything resembling exercise.”

Mycroft blinked. “And you feel these are qualities that would make you less desirable as a partner?” he said, heart sinking despite his firm assurances that it didn’t matter anyway.

“Well, yeah,” Gregory replied.

Mycroft opened his mouth to offer a sincerely apology and agreement that yes, he thought they should go their separate ways, but instead he said, “Well, I’ll see your excessive drinking and poor eating and raise you an undisclosed but significant number of cigarettes.”

It was Gregory’s turn to blink in surprise. “You smoke?”

“Not often,” Mycroft said.

“Me either,” Gregory replied. “But you exercise, then.”

“I run,” Mycroft replied. “When I can.”

“Often enough,” Gregory said with a smile. “You’re in good shape.”

Mycroft hid the snort of disbelief and smile politely.

“Oh shit, I just realised…I didn’t mean you’d be undesirable,” Gregory said with a grimace. “I didn’t think any of that would apply to you. And I don’t mean that it should, I just mean,” he sighed. “Look, I’ve been single a long time. I work too much, I don’t really take care of myself very well, and I never remember to buy more milk before I need it.” He frowned again, flexing his fingers around the fence. “Not sure I’m much of a catch, if I’m honest. And I don’t want you getting stuck with me because of some stupid soulmates thing.”

+++

From the expression on Mycroft’s face, the word that tumbled out of Greg’s mouth were not what he was expecting to hear. He certainly wasn’t hiding behind the public figure façade right now, mouth slightly open as he processed what Greg had said. When he didn’t respond, Greg immediately began to regret what he’d revealed. He was interested in at least seeing if they had a connection. Mycroft was funny when he relaxed, and considerate and he remembered stuff Greg told him.

And he had nice eyes.

Greg was a hair’s breadth from saying goodnight when Mycroft spoke.

“From what you’ve said, Gregory, we sound remarkably similar.”

“We do?” Greg wasn’t sure Mycroft had heard what he’d said.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “My own hesitance to pursue a potential soulmate has been largely driven by,” he took a deep breath and Greg could see him forcing himself to shape the words, “my inability to conceive that someone might be interested.”

“Even with the soulmate bond?” Greg asked.

“Like you, I would not wish someone to stay just because of that,” Mycroft said.

“Oh,” Greg replied. “Well, in that case…what do you want to do? Because I’m interested. If you are. I mean, we could just…see?”

Mycroft met his eyes and Greg was relieved to see his own lack of conviction reflected there. “Certainly,” he whispered and this time when he extended his hand, Greg copied him.

Their hands slid together, fingers gripping.

Greg had no idea what to expect. He’d asked a few people, but nobody had been able to describe it. _You’ll know it when you feel it_ was the best explanation he’d heard.

And now he knew.

Oh, did he know.

It was like heat, but not exactly; similar to how feeling returned after you’d slept funny on your arm…but not exactly the same. Whatever it was, it flowed up Greg’s arm and he tightened his fingers, not wanting to let it go. There was a roaring in his head too, filling his brain, and he was relieved to see Mycroft’s eyes widen as he felt fingers tighten back on his.

_He feels it too._

It lasted a few minutes, from what Greg could tell; he was breathing hard and his arm was kind of tingling (though not quite _tingling_ ).

“Wow,” he managed. He was super aware of every inch of his skin, the fabric brushing at various points, the pressure of Mycroft’s fingers still around his. The noise in his head had settled, and all that was left was a deep contentment. It didn’t wipe away his concerns but they were somehow not as sharp in his mind, cushioned with the gently pulsing awareness of Mycroft.

“Indeed.” Mycroft’s voice was quiet, and though it was recognisable, there was something new in it. A new shape to the word that resonated in Greg’s chest. His recognition wasn’t just in his mind anymore; his very core was pulsing in acknowledgement.

_I know you._

“Do you feel that?” Greg asked. He almost didn’t want to ask in case it was just him.

“I do,” Mycroft said, and Greg felt a shiver as the words came to him. Jesus, if this was what it was like, no wonder people behaved as they did. Greg’s fingers were still wrapped around Mycroft’s hand, but it wasn’t quite enough and he eased closer. Would Mycroft accept him? To his relief Greg felt their grip change as Mycroft moved forward too until they were standing close.

“Does it…do you think it’s like this all the time?” Greg asked.

+++

“I sincerely hope not,” Mycroft managed through the pulsing warmth filling his chest, “or I shall never have another productive moment.”

Gregory’s smile was unmistakable from this close, and Mycroft drank it in. He had never anticipated such an effect and it was close to overwhelming him.

“Me too,” Gregory murmured, his voice dancing through Mycroft’s mind again.

“I think you may have been wise to voice your concerns before our handshake,” Mycroft said, and it felt entirely natural to move closer still. Their handshake loosened and broke as they moved together without discussion. Gregory’s chest was solid under his palms and he could feel hands on his waist. It wasn’t the same – no skin contact – but they were so close now Mycroft could smell Gregory’s cologne and see the genuine pleasure in his eyes.

“I’m glad we talked,” Gregory murmured. “Don’t think I could’ve strung a proper sentence together now.”

“Nor I,” Mycroft whispered, and there was no opportunity for Gregory to reply. Again they moved without discussion, and as their lips met Mycroft was prepared for the wave of response that rolled through him. It wasn’t quite tingling, or sparking, or warmth; certainly, he would have difficulty describing it.

_It is glorious._

_It is glorious and I never wish to be without this again._

Gregory pulled back a little, and to Mycroft’s mortification he whimpered at the loss. “Mycroft,” he said breathlessly, “Are we…does this mean…”

“Yes,” Mycroft said without thinking. _I want this._ “If you want…”

“Yes,” Gregory gasped, and Mycroft was stunned at the need in his voice when he answered. He had to check, to meet those dark brown eyes and study the emotion in them.

_Please don’t be lying._

He scoured Gregory’s eyes, desperate for evidence either way.

_Please…_

There was nothing there to contradict him. Mycroft struggled for a moment – _he can’t really mean…why would he want…me? Me?_ – but before it could take hold, Gregory’s hand landed on his jaw and his mind stuttered to a halt, soothed by Greg’s touch.

“Could you lie to me?” Gregory’s voice was quiet but insistent, and Mycroft realised his fear was clear enough for Gregory to see it.

“No,” Mycroft replied.

Gregory didn’t say anything, waiting patiently as Mycroft processed the idea.

_I couldn’t lie to him. I could not._

_And so…he could not lie to me either._

With a hesitant smile, Mycroft placed his hand over Gregory’s, pressing it to his jaw. “Okay,” he said, and Gregory’s kiss sang through his blood.


End file.
